14/03/2025 - The Catalonian filmmaker talks about his latest feature, revolving around subjects such as fate, death, cinematic fiction and the decisions that change our lives forever

(© Quim Vives)

Jaime Rosales presented his new feature, Morlaix [+see also:
film review
trailer
interview: Jaime Rosales
film profile], at the most recent IFFR. Now, on Friday 14 March, A Contracorriente Films is releasing it in Spanish cinemas. We chatted to the Catalonian filmmaker about his new work.

Cineuropa: The main characters in Morlaix are once again youngsters, as in your previous film Beautiful Youth [+see also:
film review
trailer
interview: Jaime Rosales
film profile]. Do you take a special interest in this stage of life?
Jaime Rosales: Yes, it’s the stage at which we as people begin the process of making the two most important decisions of our lives: what profession we want to choose and which person we want to start a family with. It’s a time of worry and uncertainty, but is also very intense, emotionally. It’s the moment when an endless number of possibilities take shape. It’s not something that can be done in one day, but rather over several years. It lasts from the ages of 18-30, but it starts in the last year of secondary school.

In Morlaix, you use different formats and styles of cinematography; what was your intention?
As I was thinking about the filmic structure, the aesthetics of the movie, and the set of rules governing what I would allow myself or forbid myself to do, I was hesitating between two possibilities: black and white in 35 mm CinemaScope, and colour in 16 mm Academy ratio. I loved them both, and one month I would be leaning towards one and then, the next, towards the other. In the end, in a moment of inhibition, I opted for both. Since I liked the two of them, they were both able to find their place in the film.

This is your first fully French-language film. Did you feel at ease working in the language of your neighbours?
The language wasn’t a problem, as I studied at the Lycée français in Barcelona. I think that if I’d shot in a language that I didn’t know, like Japanese, for example, I would have managed to communicate somehow anyway. The language of film is one of images, so the language you speak doesn’t pose a problem. Another issue is the culture of a country and its sociological nuances. If I’d wished to make a sociological film, which had to be very socio-culturally accurate, I would have encountered problems. But as this was more allegorical, metalinguistic and philosophical, it wasn’t such a slave to sociological precision.

The young protagonists reflect on death, a subject that hangs heavy over the narrative. Is grief one of the most painful frames of mind, one that also makes us feel so terribly powerless?
I think death is a great taboo of our time, just like sex was for a while in the era of our parents or grandparents. Death is certainly painful, but it’s also a vital compass that gives our lives meaning. Our life is so valuable and intense precisely because we die. We have to position death in its right place, at the centre of life, so that our decisions will take on the significance they deserve.

It also talks about the paths we take and the decisions we make in our lives. Is it nostalgic about what might have been?
Making a choice entails harvesting the fruits of our decision, but also losing everything else. It’s preferable to make our decisions after lengthy deliberations and various tentative experiences. I myself had many doubts before opting to make films – I tried working in companies as an executive, I tried painting and lyric singing… The same applies to me and my partner, as I had other relationships before getting married. It’s all part of your learning process in life, as the character of Hugo says to Jean-Luc in Morlaix. It doesn’t cause me to feel nostalgic, because now, as a filmmaker and a father, I enjoy everything that life throws at me. I don’t think about what might have been; I focus on what I have to continue being.

The film shows how we are reflected in the movies we see. Is cinema a mirror for what we were, are or could have been?
Cinematic fiction, like all fiction, is at once a mirror and a telescope. Fiction makes life understandable. We need fiction in order to understand what is happening to us, to reflect on our existence. It’s been this way since the Greeks invented theatre or even before that, since the first stories that our ancestors told each other orally.

Is Morlaix a sad, life-affirming or inspiring film?
I’d like it to be a feature that moves you and that makes you think at the same time.

What expectations should the viewer have or not have when they go to see it? Is it an invitation to philosophise, to be swept along by what you show us, or are there further intentions on your part?
My intention is to move the audience and stir their intelligence. The viewer is the protagonist of this film.

(Translated from Spanish)